In the brighter silence of
dappled late September dusk
I position your wheelchair
to catch the last of the sunset
to share such fleeting moments
watching clouds and birds.
There are others talking
but we touch knees, touch feet
hold hands until it is
institutional dinner time.
You ask if I hear crickets,
and want me to sit in a metal rocker
that would worsen my vertigo
and I make a mental note to
tell them you have tinnitus.
I hope this regression is
temporary; I pray a million things
as the doctor tries some medication
to ease your anxiety.
You, who are moving backwards in time
while I capture every detail now
and am having difficulty living
without you, eighteen minutes
northeast of home.